


The Edge of the Circle, ~1640s

by kayeblaise



Series: SVT Immortals AU [9]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Team as Family, actually it's been a really long time since i've done tags i don't know what i'm doing anymore, almost definitely but that's not a word that existed yet, not necessary to read other parts to read this, this one deals with the topic of death, timeline is yikes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:42:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25060327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayeblaise/pseuds/kayeblaise
Summary: Death draws to the living like moths to candlelight, so Dino breathes the shadows into himself and snuffs himself out, waiting for the moths to settle in the dark.
Series: SVT Immortals AU [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/667244
Comments: 18
Kudos: 41





	1. Prologue:  A Yew Branch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the earliest in the timeline we've ever gone.

The baying of wolves in the distance fades as Wonwoo closes the door. 

“Friends of yours?” he says to Seungcheol who is sitting in the glow of candlelight by the window.

“That isn’t funny,” he answers without turning. He is running a sharpening stone meditatively along the edge of the old short sword he usually keeps under wrap at the side of his bed.

Wonwoo spares an extra moment to consider it as he lifts his bag off of his shoulder and places it on the table. Marigold and nettles are unwrapped from their cloths and laid out side by side. His fingers brush the rough squares of bark that he chipped off of the mountain ash. He leaves the package tucked in the bottom of the bag beside the wolfsbane. Just in case. He won’t have need of it tonight. 

“How are you feeling?” He does not let his eyes linger and keeps his tone neutral as much as he can. 

The response is not immediately forthcoming from the silhouette across the room. And when an answer does come, it is not what he’s expecting. “He’s here.” There’s a jolt in the words, and Seungcheol stands without taking his eyes off the window; the sword pings as it is dropped onto the table.

Wonwoo abandons his work and crosses the room in a few quick strides to peer through the paneled glass. The distorted view it gives of the yard is difficult to decipher in the blackness of the night but there’s no mistaking the figure that bobs into sight from out of the trees.

He curses and goes to wrench open the door, a storm cloud in his ears. He makes quick work of crossing the yard to where his sister’s son is whistling down the dirt path from the edge of the woods. 

“Where have you been?” he demands. He stops so close that Dino has to tilt his head back to meet his gaze.

“Out.” The short answer is designed to irritate him and he knows it. The sharp cut of Dino’s eyes is defiant but his hands grip the strap of his bag tellingly. 

Wonwoo makes a grab for the bag and Dino twists away to shield it from him. 

“What’s in there, huh?” he demands, hands landing on his own waist because he’s not going to wrestle for the bag even if he’s angry enough to want to. There’s a pinch right above his nose where the frustration and indignation has gathered.

“I don’t have to tell you that.”

And he can tell from the way the younger has his shoulders tilted defensively that the snap in his voice is also apprehension, which just serves to make Wonwoo more frustrated because he has every right to be angry that Dino is arriving home in the dark of the night.

"You should have been back hours ago.”

“I’m here now.”

He looks over Dino’s head to the path, tracing it in his mind to where he might have traveled. The trail splits too many ways for him to guess, but he knows all kinds of mischief that Dino could have gotten himself mixed into out on his own.

“When you are living under this roof, you come home when you are expected to, not when you feel like it.”

Dino scoffs, rolling his head in obvious disdain. Any apprehension is gone from his face when he counters, “Who are you again? Because as far as I can remember you’re not my father.”

Wonwoo’s nails bite into his palms when he explodes, “As if anyone even knows which village idiot your father was!”

The icy flash that shoots into Dino’s eyes is earned and he knows it.

Wonwoo makes a grab for his arm but Dino flings him off. The brief stand-off ends when Dino turns and storms inside, brushing past Seungcheol at the doorway who opens his mouth as if he can say anything to stop him.

He is left staring across at Wonwoo who takes one look at him and shouts, “I know!” turning away to exhale the lingering outrage into a low broiling annoyance. 

A door slams and when its echo vanishes, Seungcheol says, “Kid lost his mother, Wonwoo.”

Wonwoo groans in deep self-awareness and pinches the bridge of his nose. He’d made a promise to his sister that he would teach her son. He’d never planned on having to raise him. But that’s no excuse to disrespect her memory.

“I know that,” he says in the end, “but if I don’t reign him in, I’ll lose him, too.”

He bends to pick up a stick that had fallen from Dino’s bag in their brief struggle, already knowing what it is. The burnt charcoal at the end of the yew branch crumbles under the pressure of his hands. He turns his palm toward Seungcheol to show him the stain across the pads of his fingers.

He knows that Seungcheol won’t recognize the meaning behind the wand, but it’s proof of what he was fearing: Dino has been getting himself into mischief in the woods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N Dino decided it was time to tell his story. Short chapters for this one but they're mostly all written. I'm going to post the second chapter as well assuming I decide on a title. All the best, -K


	2. The Remains of the Ash Tree

Seungcheol drags his arm under his nose and then turns the bottom of his wrist to push the hair back from his forehead. A gnat buzzes by his ear and he swats at it in tired annoyance, pausing to lean on the handle of the axe.

In his survey of the rest of the property, he spots a squirrel twitching its tail on the stone wall in the rare luxury of noontime shade and jokes, “I’ll trade you.”

When he gets the anticipated snub, he shrugs his shoulders in preparation to drag the axe back up. His muscles resist the pull, used to the repetitive action of the downward swing. There’s a satisfying thunk when the axe descends from its arc into the wood and sticks fast. He repositions his feet so he can break the log open onto the stump. It takes another go before it splits.

As he’s working, he hears an approach behind him. Seungcheol doesn’t have to turn to know it’s Dino coming down from the house. He greets him as he bends to grab the split halves of the wood and toss them toward the pile with the rest of the ash tree's remains. “You here to help?”

“Nah.” The younger hops up onto the old stones that used to make up the foundation of the barn. The bones of the structure are all that are left now; it was abandoned long before they came to own the land.

Dino settles down to watch for a while and it doesn’t bother Seungcheol any, so he continues at his task. Dino doesn’t say anything.

In the end, Seungcheol buries the axe head into the stump and straightens up to stretch out his back. 

“What did it feel like?” Dino asks out of the blue.

For a long moment, Seungcheol doesn’t know what he’s referring to. And when he realizes, his hand rises automatically toward the place over his heart where the scars are still white and raised. He adjusts the fall of his shirt self-consciously, sniffing casually to cover any hesitation. “Don’t remember it much,” he says, circling the stump to grab the pieces that had split and fallen on the far side. “By all reports, I was near dead when they found me.”

“Did it hurt?”

Seungcheol tosses one of the wood pieces to the pile and straightens to look at Dino straight on. The younger doesn’t flinch away from the look and he doesn’t seem like he was trying to be cruel.

“I suppose, yes,” he answers honestly, “but it’s like I told you, I don’t remember much.” The second part is a lie. That whole night is vivid even now. Dino has lived with them long enough to know why he has to retreat to the deepest parts of the woods when the moon reaches its fullness. He knows what he's asking.

“What do you remember?”

He is starting to chafe under the questions. He tries to look busy by crouching next to the wood pile and turning over pieces in the stack.

“It was late autumn. Dark. I didn’t see it coming.” He can feel his heart quickening and decides that’s more than enough information for now, avoiding the flashes of fury and chaos and screaming. He doesn’t mention the others in his company who’d been brought to shreds.

“When you were dying, what were you thinking about?”

Seungcheol pivots on his ankles to confront Dino because now he knows he must be trying to anger him. But what he sees tells him otherwise. It has been little more than a season since Dino came to stay. And it was only a few years prior to that when Wonwoo started teaching him the old craft. He wasn’t as naive now as he was then, but his questions likely come from grief, not cruelty.

“It was peaceful,” he tells him, and he does his best to put himself back in that dark night without reliving it, “I didn’t feel alone or scared. Not like I thought dying would feel.”

He stops with one of the wood pieces balanced between his hands, staying connected to the feeling of the smooth grain and the roughness of the bark. And he experiences in flashes the hot pain and the cold fear and yet, he isn’t lying when he tells him, “I didn’t feel like I was alone.” 

He doesn’t add that, for a moment, when all had gone dark, he wasn’t entirely sure he hadn’t died. And that it is only by some terrible grace that he lives cursed as he is now. Maybe it is fair punishment for lives he’d taken in the bloodshed and the battle he’d fought in a strange wood in a different land. If it is superstition that made him hang up his sword then so be it. If it is caution that makes him hold on to it even now, he can hardly be blamed. 

When he finally checks for Dino’s reaction to his words, he finds that he is lost in his own contemplation.

He notices, not for the first time, that Dino is more like Wonwoo than either would like to admit. Today, it’s the way the younger is tilting his head as he thinks, but most days it’s the way they both are too proud and too clever and too stubborn for their own good.

“Thank you,” Dino says suddenly. 

“You’re welcome,” Seungcheol answers, brushing off his hands as he gets back to his feet.

Dino does not waste time. He departs first and alone, trailing off back toward the house in a way that leaves Seungcheol wondering if he came all the way down here just to ask him about death.


	3. A Stone Marker

The fraying edge of the hood pulled low over his face brushes shadows on his nose. The silver and white designs he’s learned from the old book are traced with care in archaic cursive along the seams. He has spent hours working them into the fabric in the dim light at the casement where the moonlight slips through his window. They hold that power even now, though the sun clings to the edge of the horizon.

_“Dino?”_

He rips the hood from his head and spins toward the call. Caught like a fish in a trap, he scrambles to destroy the evidence of his work, blowing out the candles and scuffing through the dirt with the toe of his boot. The circle does not disappear completely where the ground has turned over. He stuffs the last candle into his bag and sits down hard in front of the stone marker to pretend that he’s been deep in prayer or contemplation as Wonwoo emerges from the tree line.

He folds his hands in his lap as an afterthought and risks a peek out of the corner of his eye. Wonwoo is squinting across at him, his lip pulled back from his teeth, and Dino exhales his relief, thankful for the older's poor eyesight.

“Long time no see,” he greets nervously. This finally does make something like suspicion curl onto Wonwoo’s face but just as quickly it’s gone, his attention flicking over to the stone.

“Thought I might find you here.” Wonwoo paces to stand just over his shoulder with arms-folded. Dino can feel the oncoming talk in everything from Wonwoo’s posture to the way he breathes. He braces himself and prays that he won’t notice the circle.

“She was one of the best.”

Dino tilts back in surprise and catches the sentiment on Wonwoo’s face before it’s gone.

“She was,” he agrees uncertainly, because they don’t normally talk about it. Wonwoo is considering the stone marker in a way that Dino has not seen him do before, even on the day she was buried.

“She and I were far enough apart in age that we didn’t exactly grow up together,” Wonwoo notes as he lowers himself to sit cross-legged in the dirt at Dino’s side, “but when she came around the house, she was always kind to me.”

Dino decides he won't ever tell Wonwoo outright, but in that moment, it felt nice to share a history of knowing her, even if they hold separate sets of memories. They are the only ones left to carry them now. They are all that's left of the family line.

“I think she really liked the idea of you learning the trade,” Wonwoo continues. 

Dino doesn’t want to tell him about the fights they’d gotten into over it. Once his mother had gotten sick, he hadn’t wanted to leave her side to go learn the old ways when the world was changing. Here off the beaten path at the very edge of civilization, things still feel lost in time. 

“But there are right ways and wrong ways of doing things, Dino.”

And that’s how he knows that Wonwoo knows: that Wonwoo has seen the circle or the spark of dark fascination in Dino’s heart.

“Who decides which ways are right?” He risks the anger that the question reveals tucked away inside of him. The anger that witchcraft had taken things away from him: time and memories—and that it owes him something back.

To his benefit, Wonwoo doesn’t answer right away. He leans back on his palms and stretches out his legs. “It’s like a path through the woods,” he begins, taking great pains to check his words, each part of his explanation measured in its delivery, “You know that if you follow the path it will take you to where you want to go."

He checks that Dino is understanding with a glance. Dino does not give away what he’s thinking but his eyes are fixed and he’s clearly listening.

Wonwoo goes on, pointing through the air in front of him like he can see the path through the trees, “And even though the woods might be dangerous, the path gives you the safest route through. Straying from it puts you against the unknown."

“Could you have saved her if we’d been there?”

Wonwoo is evasive when he answers, “It’s not within my power or anyone else’s to stop death when it’s coming.”

“Others have done it.” Dino is tipping his hand too much, and he can only hope that Wonwoo will attribute the assertion to childishness and not to design. He cannot know how far Dino’s secret work has gone.

“There may be ways,” Wonwoo agrees, “but there is stepping off of the path, and then there’s walking into the den with the wolves. There are powers that shouldn’t be accessed, names that shouldn’t be called.”

The dark truth of the answer rings hollow in Dino’s chest. The things that Wonwoo wants to teach him feel wholly inadequate now. It is not the concept of his power that causes a spark of toxic excitement to leak from Dino’s heart and bleed into his fingertips. It is the way he can use it to see beyond the veil. To know that there are creatures with the power to reach the dead. 

You cannot unknow a thing like that.

Wonwoo pushes his shoulder lightly with his knuckles to break him from his melancholy and Dino cannot help but relent with a half-smile. 

“There are a great many things that we can do,” Wonwoo tells him, “Ways to heal the world. To bring broken things into order. But there are also a great many things that we shouldn’t do. Things that we can’t.” The gentleness and sincerity in Wonwoo’s words feed directly into him. And a great part of him wants to be swayed, to be persuaded by the reality of what Wonwoo is saying. 

There should have been a comfort in sharing blood with someone still living in the world, and if he let himself, he might have been able to picture hanging up his crooked fascinations the way Seungcheol had hung up his sword. Yet, perhaps for the same reasons that Seungcheol still sharpens the blade, he can’t let go of the way he’s been shaped by the things he’s learned. 

Wonwoo hopes for him to be a healer. He is going to be so much more.

Dino huffs when Wonwoo suddenly reaches over and ruffles at his hair. As he complains and tries to hide a smile, he is content to pretend for a moment that Wonwoo has cured him of his rebellion: that he is still as young as Wonwoo sees him.

“Come on,” Wonwoo says cheeringly, “Let’s head back to the house. You can show me that trick you learned with the fire.”

Wonwoo stands and dusts himself off with a rare show of enthusiasm. And for a moment, Dino is willing to admire Wonwoo and all the ways that he is trying. A twinge of regret almost betrays him when he thinks how disappointed he will be.

Wonwoo holds out a hand to help him up and Dino accepts, even as he continues to hide the candles in his bag. And as they take the path back home, he knows it’s too late to extract the reckoning from his soul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N Thank you all so much for reading and for your comments <3 This story popped out unexpectedly because of a line that wrote itself into the epilogue of Marbles without permission: "I made a choice and I’ll pay for it." Dino just took over the narrative since. (I apologize about how quickly this one is moving and any quality issues as a result. I'm just going to lean heavily into the half-told stories thing and run with it, haha.) Be well, -K


	4. Figures in the Dark

The candlelight flickers in the dark as if manipulated by unseen hands.

Dino drags the silent feeling of the darkness around himself, drawing from the shadows a dread that suits his business. He allows the hood to slip slightly from his forehead as he lifts his gaze and steps back so his heels touch the edge of the circle. He can feel in his joints that he is powerful and he doubts for a moment that this isn’t pride. That he isn’t doing this to prove something. The bitter thought lingers with an unpleasant aftertaste. Growing up, he had protected his mother and the family name without help. What could anyone teach him that he hasn’t taught himself?

The stone marker at the edge of the trees regards him placidly. It seems like nothing could have the power to disturb it. Time is meaningless to the stone. 

To Dino it is everything.

He closes his eyes. He apologizes and doesn’t know exactly to whom before he’s decided to take it back. He’s made his choice. Death draws to the living like moths to candlelight, so Dino breathes the shadows into himself and snuffs himself out, waiting for the moths to settle in the dark.

In that breathlessness every sound is louder.

A rustle beyond the veil.

A branch snap deep in the woods.

The whisper of frail hands scratching at the air.

All of it is right beside him and a great distance away.

The hardest thing when he was first exploring this power had been leaving his hands away from his sides, offering his fingers to be sniffed at by spirits in the dark. He had been so afraid that one would reach out and grab his hand. But he can’t act with his hands at his sides or in his pockets. He has to wait and hold his breath against the figures in the darkness.

The spirits are in a world of their own.

They will wait until he calls. . . they will wait. . .

He recites in his mind the words he has memorized, stitching their symbols into his clothes. Though he cannot open his eyes he imagines a door. He opens it, an endless gaping maw, and whispers a name that shouldn’t be spoken and calls on a power that shouldn’t be called. 

Blind seconds tick by, and in the corner of his shut eyes he feels something move, something that is not one of the dead. It breathes in the dark.

His ears pump with blood and he seeks to hear past it, eyes roving behind closed lids. The electric energy in his veins begs him to flee. But death draws to the living. He cannot run from what he’s named.

 _"Why do you call at such a late hour?”_ The voice shudders in the air and yet the lilt is warm and pulling, _pulling, pulling.  
_

Dino does not open his eyes. He should not yet turn to see the one he’s called.“I summoned you to do what I command.”

_“I tell you that I come of my own accord. No one summons me.”_

Cold nails brush at his neck. 

A frail exhale turns to white mist in the air. “Will you do what I ask?”

There’s a slither of rapid motion and the voice pans from left to right behind him: “ _And what would you give me in return?”_

Dino lets the yew branch slip down from where he has tucked it into his sleeve and turns, whispering it into lighting. He almost sees the shadow of creeping horror and ugliness that crackles in the sparks for a moment before he touches the flame to the edge of the circle. It lights in a whip of green fire. The figure in the circle shrieks but by the time the flames turn blue, they are human, though only in appearance. There is still a trail of smoke butting the edge of the circle.

He stares for a moment in rapt amazement at what he has done. The being regards him through the haze cast by the dimming ring of fire. Dino commands with a thrill of daring, “If you do what I ask, I’ll let you go.”

The extraordinary darkness that extends through the man’s pupils is now the only hint of the monstrous form he had held. The voice is still inviting and chilling but the air no longer shudders around it, “And what would you ask?”

The words catch in Dino’s throat. Now that he has the chance to say them, he isn’t sure how. He isn’t sure it’s right.

The smile that creeps across the fiend’s face indicates that he already knows what is in Dino’s heart. “You know that while she died, she was crying out for you. And you never came.”

Dino’s stomach turns but he knows what evil he has called. He can expect no less from monsters in the dark. He’s left the beaten path to drag a wolf from its den.

“Ah,” the demon utters as if noticing something new, “You think I’m lying because of what he told you by the ash tree.” The smile is filled with malice. “He told you the same thing they tell all naïve children who can’t stand the thought of death. They lie of peace. But the end is terribly alone. Always. A maddening, eternal nothing.”

Dino can feel the crawl of things from the other side. He tenses—and cold fingers brush his hand. 

He whips around and there is only the stone marker —silver, even in the orange flicker thrown by the dozen wicks alight around the clearing. The shadows slide across its surface in a lifelike dance.

_“Would you like to see her, then?”_

And in an instant of wild, unruly terror, Dino imagines the ground splitting open. He imagines a crawling back of horror and wrongness and whips back around with a no trapped in his throat. 

The figure is out of the circle before him. 

“ _A child in the dark,_ ” the demon derides, dragging his toe through the place where Dino’s heel had broken the circle. “ _You know nothing of death.”_

The candles go out.

For a moment there is silence.

Then he hears the whisper that isn't spoken: " _When you open a door, make sure you close it.”_

Death draws to the living like moths to flame. The cool dread slipping down his throat tells him that they are leaking through the cracks, spreading toward him along the ground and through the air. Not breathing or moving, he searches for his center, he imagines becoming death, he imagines a great powerful stillness. His heart drums out a summons. . . he clenches his teeth and feels his lips grow cold. Draining, drawing away, he is dead and alive and they are hungry and sightless, ghouls and wraiths with pitch eyes and hollow mouths, glowing in the dark behind his closed eyes. Their hands grasp at him, desperate and searching.

He gasps and slips to his knees. They pull him down. He stares past the fire that licks and burns coldly at his soul, ignoring it in dread and awe at the shadow that grins, watching him drowning.

And without a sound he slips like one does through a veil and was all in darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N Today's self-indulgent moment is discovering that the word electric entered the English language in the 1640s. I'm likely double updating tonight because the chapters are so short. I was going to combine them but it didn't seem quite right. 
> 
> This story may end up with an epilogue. I had to change the chapters to accommodate. Thank you, thank you, as always and with sincerity.


	5. A Wisp of Smoke

Wonwoo launches upright from a dead sleep with a chill deep in his bones.

In the corner across the room, Seungcheol's back hits the wall, his eyes wild. He is leveling the sword at the air with both hands, having awoken in full alarm at the disturbance. “What’s wrong?” Seungcheol gasps his words. His shoulder presses against the stones of the cold chimney that abuts the foot of his bed like he is preparing to stand without loosening his grip on the sword. One foot is already on the ground.

Wonwoo knows that he is in some other woods. “Nothing,” he says, feeling foolish in an attempt to explain something he doesn’t understand. His hand drags along the back of his neck where the shudder that had woken him has settled into goosebumps. Under his breath he adds, “Somebody just walked over my grave.” By the end of his sentence, the wind has wormed its way through the crack in the window, howling its wordless song, and Wonwoo knows.

He flips out of the covers and storms to the door that leads to what was once his room but is now Dino’s. With the small space, he had pushed into the house proper to make room for him. He had wanted to make him feel at home. 

When he leans in through the door, he has trouble adjusting to the dark. He already knows, though. The bed is empty. He crosses the room anyway and spins in the center, his breath coming up short because Dino is not there.

“He’s gone.” He emerges back into the house and grabs his shoes, fumbling to get them on as he moves toward the door.

Seungcheol's eyes follow him now. He puts the sword down beside him, although one hand stays pressing down on it against the mattress. He still swallows around his words. "Hold on, maybe he—”

Wonwoo has already burst out of the house. He is standing in the dirt, praying that he will turn and see Dino somewhere in the blurry darkness. But he knows he won’t. Because he isn’t there.

Seungcheol shouts after him, but Wonwoo is already running.

The shudder of his breath as he races by the trees in the dark haunts him. The rutted path forks through the woods and he clings to the false comfort of anger that buries the fear, stringing together reprimands and lectures that he will yell at Dino when he finds him. When he drags him home. Dino will spit his complaints and push him away in pride and defiance because he is always so angry. The way that Wonwoo is. They have so much of that in common. He imagines Dino taking satisfaction in the idea of being just as clever and stubborn and irritated at life for its faults.

The clearing hits him unexpectedly as he emerges from the trees. He stops, just touching the edge of it. It is the quiet that stops him.

The muted outline of the circle and the gray stone marker are a picture undisturbed: the candles a sickly gray where they dot the ground like ghosts, left behind with all the wilted, lifeless things. There's a blackened yew branch in the dirt. The smell of sulfur and smoke curl faintly in the dark as the wind pushes through. All else is a bleak stillness, broken open and abandoned. 

And Wonwoo knows. He knows and still he imagines that Dino will appear from behind some tree laughing at him for his alarm. He wants to imagine anything but the horrifying, eternal stillness and calm that clings to the clearing when all evidence says it should be alight. He wants to believe that Dino changed his mind or that he'd failed utterly to reach into the void. But Dino is so clever and sparked with fire he would not have left the work behind. Wonwoo tries to pretend for a moment that the emptiness is not so fatal. That the silence is a mistake. But he can't.

A pale wisp of smoke pulls away from one of the candle wicks into oblivion. It smolders. And part of Wonwoo has known since the moment he found the sheets laid so neatly across Dino’s bed, but the sight of the candle smoke curling into the air like a final reach into nothingness collapses the wire frame of his control. It has only just gone out. Weeks ago when they spoke in front of the stone he'd had a chance, and even before that, when Dino came home late in the night. And with all of his chances, he is somehow a moment and an eternity too late. The candle spins smoke in the empty night.

When Seungcheol arrives, he is running like there’s still any hope. And when he finds Wonwoo collapsed on his knees, his first instinct is to check that he isn’t hurt.

Wonwoo can't offer anything but, “He’s gone.”

Seungcheol turns to the clearing where there is nothing now but the night and ruined things. “Gone where?”

Wonwoo can't say it, because in that moment, for as long as Seungcheol doesn’t know, Dino is still alive.

Except he isn’t. When Wonwoo breaks down, he shatters the illusion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N ♡

**Author's Note:**

> For new readers or those looking for more details: https://kayeblaise.tumblr.com/immortalstags


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